40
The Fool laughed, and Phil felt the hair on his neck and arms rise at the sheer alien quality of the sound.
From where she had stood, the Queen called out, “At once put away that mask! You mock one who is your better!”
Instantly the youth reappeared. He made a courtly bow toward the Queen, who motioned for her attendants to come to her. Tiny glowing sprites flew up the hill while she sought to regain her poise. With a sly wink to the humans, the youth called Ariel said, “It is not quite time, though it shall be soon.”
Almost absently, Ariel said to the Queen, “The Indian king’s boy is dead.”
The Queen nodded. “We sensed his death.”
Thomas sighed. “It is good he rests at last. His nature had become foul in extremis since the Fool won him from the Queen. And long has he been a cause of contention between the two courts. How did he pass?”
Ariel said, “That one’s son called Sean slew him with a dagger of silver.” He grinned. “He’s a brave tad. The Indian king’s boy thanked him for the deed. That faint gratitude sang on the wind for all to hear. His soul is now free to find God’s rest.”
Phil said, “Sean? What…?”
Mark said, “Ten thousand questions. And I don’t know where to start.”
Barney nodded as he sat down heavily upon the muddy ground. “And scant good would answers gain you, Mark Blackman. What sober man would believe you?”
Mark looked at the youth. “What do you mean, it’s not quite time?”
Ariel glanced at the Queen, who stood surrounded by her court. He barely hid his laugh as he spoke. “For ages have I served her, and the other, tossed from court to court as fate’s whim directed. Soon, I think, I shall rule, for if my master does not best the mortal boys in the Hall of Ancient Seasons, I shall take his place. And to the Queen’s bed go without suffering the consequence.”
“Consequence?” said Mark, obviously confused.
Ariel glanced at Thomas. “The Queen’s needs are savage in appetite. Twice have I had the pleasure to be her passing fancy. Greatly was I vanquished. None can withstand the Queen’s embrace without being bested, save”—he inclined his head toward Thomas—“that one.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. Thomas shrugged. “The Queen finds me … pleasurable. I can bring her things … of the body. With me she needs no issues of dominance resolved. She can take from me without surrender and fear, and I survive her gifts.”
Ariel chortled, a high-pitched gleeful sound. “So wonderful a lover she found him that when he sought to leave, she cursed him.” Now the boy fell to the ground, and rolled over to lie on his back, hands behind his head, obviously delighted at the chance to tell the story. “And such a curse! Never could he speak without telling the truth—only the truth, no more, no less. No embellishments, no liberties, no coloring or lightening, no kind dissembling, no charitable allusions. Just truth. A poet under such a curse could find but little favor in the company of other mortals. Lords who are willing patrons need fawning praise, not unvarnished truth.” He glanced at Thomas. “And I would think rhyming would become much more difficult with so many words denied you, poet.” Looking back to Mark, the youth said, “He returned to us, lore keeper, as the Queen knew he would.”
Mark’s eyes widened. “Of course! You’re Thomas Learmont!”
“I am he,” answered the man.
Phil glanced at the man and said, “Who?”
Mark said, “Thomas of Erceldoune. Thomas the Rhymer.”
Barney, who had recovered his wits, laughed a weak, hoarse-sounding laugh, cut through by fear, but he boldly said, “A Scotsman, which is nearly as bad as an Englishman, but a poet, which makes him almost Irish.”
Thomas ignored the barb. “Please,” said Mark, “there’s so little time. What are these creatures?”
Thomas shrugged. “Beings of the spirit. They have no true mortal form; they take shape as pleases them.” He looked at Mark. “They cause terror or lust, love and fear, those strongest of emotions, to rise up within mortal hearts, fanning them like a flame into a blaze; then they feed upon those passions, devouring them like food or drink. When they take mortal lovers, their spirit and the spirits of their lovers burn like a fire. If they are kind, they cause only a little fear or a little passion, taking sparingly, and leaving the mortal to recover. But if they are without kindness, they take all until they’ve devoured the mind and spirit of the human whom they use in this fashion, leaving only ashes behind. It is a difficult thing to understand. It is their way. They are denied flesh, and long for it. They mimic us and our bodies, since they have none of their own. They envy us. For all their frolic, they are an ofttimes sad race.”
Phil said, “But you’re human; you stay with them?”
“I abide,” agreed Thomas. “The Queen and I have come to know each other. It is a satisfactory arrangement.” His voice trailed off. “Though now and again I long for the sight of fog on the moors and sun on the hills of Scotland.”
“Perhaps this year,” said Ariel. “One never knows where she will choose. Now the courts are reunited, and she free of his sour orders, it may prove she’ll choose a place where a great celebration can be undertaken.”
To Mark and the others Thomas said, “Before this night, since the time of the Compact, the Queen and the Fool had been in all ways equal. Each had their court, and both needed to agree on where we would troop next. The Seely and Unseely courts are separate in their realm, but in this mortal world they must move as one.”
Ariel’s grin widened and his voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Once, ages past, there was but one court. It was after the Destruction, when the Compact was forced upon us, that we were split as a people.” His eyes seemed alive with delight. “Though it may be, should my master fall, we shall again be as one!” Then his eyes betrayed a dark side. “Or should she not wish to share her rule and those below be agreed, we might see another in control of the Dark Lands. No courser can withstand me.”
Ariel giggled, and Phil shivered at the madness in the sound. “Is it not a grand and fitting irony, humans? Has there ever been a more dolorous race than we? For to take pleasure is to become a slave, and to give it without return is hollow victory. So we seek humans to prey upon, that we not destroy ourselves.” He laughed again, but this time it was a bitter laugh. “Yet our perversity is nothing compared to mankind’s. Someday I must come to understand what makes you humans so wasteful of the gifts God has given you. To feel so strongly … to know pleasure and pain … joy and wonder … even death!”
Mark’s tone was one of disbelief. “You don’t die?”
Thomas said, “They are of the spirit, and to die is utter obliteration. They have no souls, or they are only souls, however you choose to understand such things. But if they fall, they fall for eternity, while man’s light passes to another and better world.”
Mark and Phil exchanged glances. Mark was about to ask another question, but in the distance the sound of a church bell cut the night. Thomas said, “It is time.”
With the chiming of the bell, the fairies began to glow brightly. Many shifted shape. The knights of the Queen’s court and the Fool’s coursers were all surrounded by a white-blue glow. The horses vanished, as did all the armor. Only small beings with sheer wings, hovering above the ground, remained.
“What … ?” said Phil.
The Queen quickly surrounded herself with light as the second chime struck. She resolved herself into a different form, even more stunning and beautiful than before. Her wings were golden, but with faint shimmering stripes of colors, and her hair hung to her shoulders like the finest spun gold. She wore a fabulous robe of stunning fashion, yet it was transparent, revealing her naked body as she rose into the air. Her breasts, hips, buttocks, and long tapering legs were perfect in proportion and form, but she was of heroic size, easily a full head taller than Mark. Her skin was without blemish and her muscles impossibly smooth and fluid in every movement. Her legs and arms were
almost golden in this light, and her body was devoid of hair save her groin, which was covered in soft-looking, feathery golden down. Her face was now even more perfect than before, each line more finely drawn, each curve more subtle, each angle more graceful. Yet now, more than before, her alien nature was revealed.
Mark glanced about, but it was Phil who shouted, “Where are my sons!”
With a savage laugh, Ariel answered, “In a place of timelessness and despair, and should they not win free of my master, and quickly, there shall they abide for eternity.”
The sound of his voice sent a chill of dread through Phil’s soul, plunging him into a darkness of the heart beyond any despair he had known thus far. He turned to watch the hillside for any sign of his boys, knowing he had but ten more chimes before they were lost to him forever.
41
Sean and Patrick stood motionless. The sound of hoof-beats reverberated through the dark woodlands, now closer. Sean willed himself to speak, saying, “You didn’t do like I told you!” He was suddenly conscious of having left the dagger behind in the body of the Bad Thing. “You broke your word!”
With evil amusement the Fool placed hands on hips, saying, “Indeed I did not! I was told not to follow after.” With a mock graciousness that terrified Sean as much as any demonstration of anger, the Fool continued. “But you said nothing about me riding ahead of you. And you said nothing about them following after!”
He pointed to the woods behind the boys, past the still figure of the Bad Thing, where a veritable army of dark fairies was emerging into sight. Those upon horse rode slowly and those on foot crouched, in anticipation of the boys’ bolting away from the Fool. “Now you are mine!”
To the advancing fairies he said, “Take them!”
Sean and Patrick exchanged glances and one of those silent communications they had known since birth. Both boys broke toward the door and the Fool, away from his minions. The spinning golden globe of the Quest Guide moved to follow.
As soon as the three passed the threshold, the door slammed behind them, freeing them momentarily from pursuit. The Fool hesitated an instant at the unexpected charge, as Patrick ran to the right and Sean the left.
Patrick dodged, and as he passed the door that held summer in check, it slammed open. Thenoise caused him to falter, and he instinctively moved away, which brought him within reach of the Fool.
A powerful hand reached out and gripped the boy’s flesh, but he squirmed and pulled away, feeling scorching heat, as if touched by a live electric wire. He fell forward, rolling and turning, to rise in a crouch.
But instead of the expected sight of the Fool advancing upon him, Patrick saw that the dread creature had spun to face Sean, who had not quite gotten past him. And this time there was a handful of clothing to grip as the Fool’s now gloved fist seized hold of Gabbie’s blouse. With a shout of triumph, the Fool lifted Sean. “You will torment me no longer, boy!” And with a searing laugh, he said, “Now you will know pain!”
Lifting Sean toward him, he reached out with his free hand, and Patrick could see that the leather glove had clawed tips, poised to tear his brother’s flesh.
42
Patrick screamed, “Sean! Get away!”
Sean twisted and squirmed, and the clawed glove descended.
Sean cried out as the shirt tore and his child’s flesh was cut. Patrick stood motionless, helpless to aid his brother in this moment of his torment, as crimson stained his sister’s tattered blouse. The Fool giggled, a sound to freeze the mind. Patrick could see that the cuts upon Sean’s chest were light, for the Fool was only toying with his victim.
Then Sean jerked at the front of his shirt with his free hand. The buttons tore and suddenly he was sliding downward. The Fool’s eyes went wide with astonishment as the boy wriggled free and he was left holding limp cloth. The now bare-chested boy dodged away, and the Fool turned to cut off his escape.
Sean moved away, and the door leading to winter flew open. The boy backed toward it, sensing the opening behind him. The Fool’s face came alight with evil glee. “There’s no escape there, boy. There lies Forever’s Winter, and to enter that realm is to lose all hope.”
Sean crouched, as if to make a leap for freedom past the Fool, and the Fool answered his movements with a move to his right. Sean feigned a move in the other direction, and the Fool answered that. The boy was helpless.
Sean crouched, seeming consumed at last by panic. Seeing him immobilized by terror caused a stiffening of Patrick’s resolve. He wouldn’t let this shiny guy take Sean. Patrick spun about, looking for anything that might help. There was only one other object in the room. Patrick reached out and grabbed the Quest Guide, as Sean had before. The baseball-sized orb brightened as if angry or fearful. “Sorry,” was all Patrick said as he reared back.
Patrick shouted, “Sean! Pitchout!”
At this the Shining Man turned toward Patrick, while Sean hunkered down even lower. Patrick took aim at the Shining Man’s head and threw the Quest Guide. He didn’t have Sean’s finesse as a pitcher, but his throw to second base was the strongest of any boy his age he had met, and he knew this was the most important throw of his young life. Straight and true went the Quest Guide, speeding at the head of the Fool. The Quest Guide struck the Shining Man full in the face, and with a shriek—of pain or anger, the twins couldn’t judge—the Fool stumbled back.
Sean braced himself, in the age-old position of the boy who creeps behind another, waiting for a companion to push the unsuspecting dupe backward. The Fool’s leather boot struck Sean and he toppled backward and with a mind-numbing scream fell through the door into winter.
Sean rolled forward, scrambling around on all fours in a crablike motion. But instead of a figure of towering rage emerging from the door to claim them, they saw the Fool sitting in the snow. The old man and woman were rushing to him, one on each side, helping him to his feet. Then the boys saw that the man and woman weren’t just helping him, they were holding him. What had been smiling faces, set in warm expressions, were now masks of madness beyond that seen upon the Shining Man. The Fool struggled against the pair, but even his magical strength could not budge them.
Patrick came up behind where Sean crouched and said, “Look at that!”
As they watched, the Fool’s face seemed to grow pale, and to wither, until his apparent age matched that of the pair who held him motionless. He cried out, and his scream was only the faintest whisper of agony.
Then Patrick gripped Sean’s shoulder, and Sean turned. In the opposite doorway, another Fool, young and vigorous, was held in identical pose to his older doppelgänger, his motion restricted by the young pair of summer lovers.
Sean rose unsteadily to his feet. With a voice choked with fatigue and emotion, he said, “Let’s go.”
Patrick gave him a steadying arm and then let him go. Sean walked slowly toward the far door. As they passed out of sight of the first pair of doors, they swung shut and the second pair opened. Within the door to autumn a mature-looking version of the Fool was being pulled back from the door by the man and woman Sean had seen on his previous way through the hall. The boys turned.
Beyond the last door, the door into spring, a child Fool, in the same raiment as the others but diminished in size to a boy of seven, was being dragged away by the boy and girl. In those three faces both twins saw something unholy. And his faintly heard child’s screams were of unalloyed terror.
Sean turned away and saw his own tears mirrored upon Patrick’s cheeks. “Let’s go home.”
Patrick nodded and knew that no words would ever convey to another what they had just witnessed. Then the distant sound of a chime could be heard, and Sean said, “It’s midnight! We’ve got to hurry!” Forcing legs weary beyond belief to move, they ran for the far door.
43
The night was rent by a boy’s cry: Sean screaming, “Barney!”
Seemingly out of nowhere, the twins hurried on leaden legs toward the three men. Phil dashed forward, s
weeping up both his boys in his arms, his voice breaking with emotion as he repeated their names over and over. Barney came hurrying through the mud as fast as his cramped and ancient legs could carry him. He reached the boys with tears in his eyes and prayers on his lips, saying, “Blessed St. Patrick be praised! You did it, Sean! You brought him back!”
Sean began to speak, but couldn’t, fear and fatigue finally overwhelming him. All he could do was let his father hold him. The exhausted boys allowed Phil to support them, letting themselves go limp. Almost breathless, Patrick said, “The Shining Man tried to get us, but we tricked him and now he’s stuck in the house with the doors.”
The Queen’s voice sang out. “Within the Hall of Ancient Seasons?”
Patrick nodded. “He grabbed Sean, and I threw the shining ball at him. He fell through the door.”
The Queen covered her face with her hands and openly sobbed.
Mark glanced at the human who stood beside the Queen. “I don’t understand,” he said. The bell at St. Catherine’s struck the third chime of midnight.
“She did love him greatly,” answered Thomas.
Hugging his sons and considering what he had heard about the Fool, Phil said, “She loves that maniac?”
With a sad note, Thomas said, “The Queen loves many, and many love her. But that one who is lost in ancient seasons was first among her lovers and foes.”
Faerie Tale Page 43
